Bait
by Joan Powers
Summary: When there is insufficient evidence to indict a suspected serial killer, the CSIs are more than willing to consider an unorthodox proposal. Everyone, that is, except Grissom especially since it involves Sara. suspense, GS angst, GS romance Ch7 posted C
1. Chapter 1

Bait

By Joan Powers

**A/N** This is an older story that I recently uncovered and just finished up. As a reminder, I will never do a case file without significant GSR. Thanks to Leslie for encouraging me to finish this, and to Eileen, Loisarah, PhDelicious and smryczko for their helpful detailed feedback. This story will be updated daily.

**Type:** Suspense, G/S angst, G/S romance

**Summary:** When there is insufficient evidence to indict a suspected serial killer, the CSIs are more than willing to consider an unorthodox proposal. Everyone, that is, except Grissom; especially since it involves Sara.

**Timeline/Spoilers:** Post Bloodlines yet prior to Season 5

**Rating:** PG-13 or K+

**7p.m. The Lab**

"No, it's a bad idea. We have absolutely no reason to even consider it." Grissom stood firm, with his arms crossed in front of his chest. As far as he was concerned, the subject was closed.

Across the conference table, Catherine and Sara sighed and exchanged frustrated glances.

The time, effort, and utter lack of progress on the brutal murder of Bonnie Dunsmore, a popular and well respected school principal, was wearing on all their nerves. She had been thirty-eight years old, with no obvious enemies and a solid reputation in Las Vegas public school system.

"Why?" Catherine asked. "You know this business, when you've got an edge, you use it. Brass said that Manny specifically asked for Sara. He's so arrogant that he's actually giving us an opportunity to nail him. We can't let this slip away."

Sara and Nick had interviewed the overconfident suspect Manuel "Manny" Rivera several times at his workplace, an upscale Las Vegas service center, coincidentally the same garage used by the victim. The tall wiry Latino man had answered their questions, but with a distinctly hostile edge. During the course of his interviews, he'd made repeated, offhandedly crude, sexual comments and innuendoes targeting Sara. He made no secret of the fact that he found women to be little more than gutter trash or pond scum.

Since traces of specialized engine grease used by the garage had been located on the victim's body, the CSIs had been able to obtain a warrant compelling DNA samples from all the employees in the service bays. Manny's DNA had come back a positive match to the DNA extracted from several stray hairs obtained off the victim's body.

At that point, they'd brought him into the station for questioning and processing, essentially examining his alibi and body with a fine-toothed comb. Unfortunately, time had been on Manny's side. The body had been discovered in the desert by a bunch of teenagers searching for an isolated place to party. Based on decomposition it had been buried for at least a week to ten days. Whatever additional physical evidence may have been present had either been compromised by the frightened teens or degraded beyond viability.

As for an alibi, Manny had been able to produce a frightened young Hispanic girl who swore he had been with her for the entire evening in question. Sara suspected that Mariana had been so terrified of incurring Manny's wrath; she would've gladly sworn they'd spent the night at a prayer meeting.

Manny's epithelial cells and fingerprints had also been found in the victim's car, yet these along with the hairs, could conceivably be explained as benign since he claimed to have overseen the recent repair of the vehicle.

Even though several of his acquaintances and co-workers believed the disgruntled Manny to be fully capable of committing such a horrible atrocity, the lab lacked sufficient hard evidence to link him indisputably to the crime and make the charges stick.

"I don't think we've exhausted all our options yet. What do we actually have on him?" Grissom rubbed his temples, searching for answers.

Nick stood against the wall. He began to reiterate their evidence, "The traces of specialized engine grease on the victim led us to Manny's garage. The rope could've been bought at any hardware store."

"Wasn't there something unusual about the knots?" Grissom prodded. The victim's wrists had been tightly bound behind her back.

Sara explained, "Yeah, it wasn't your typical double knot. It was some fancy knot, a half-hitch, typically used by fishermen or sailors."

Nick continued listing their findings, "The clothing fibers identified from the victim were consistent in color and texture with the coveralls used in Manny's garage."

"But they're also used in over fifty other garages in town," Warrick added sadly.

"Only those few hairs.." Grissom muttered to himself. "And the semen's undergone too much degradation for a positive identification."

That had been a huge let down. When Doc Robbins had extracted the semen sample from the victim, the entire lab had been convinced that they finally had a substantial lead.

"Sara and I have been interviewing everyone we can think of to try to get more information on Manny. The Dunsmores used that garage but Manny didn't usually work on their cars. He claimed the day of the crime that he was just helping his co-worker with the repair before Mrs. Dunsmore picked up the vehicle. There was nothing in. his car, the garage, or his apartment to link him to the crime or the victim," Nick added.

Nick was bitterly disappointed. He and Sara had logged a massive amount of overtime trying to nail down their suspect. Now, the clock was ticking. If they didn't make a case within forty-eight hours, the suspect was free to leave town. With a condescending smirk, Manny had assured Nick and Sara that he already had plans to skip Vegas to find a more agreeable environment. Although murder has no statute of limitation, a fugitive would be considerably harder to locate and arrest, not to mention posing a considerable danger to the general public as well.

Catherine rose to fill yet another cup of coffee, and wearily suggested, "Let's try to talk through what we think happened. When did Mr. Dunsmore last see his wife?"

"She called him on her cell phone after she picked up her car from the garage. About seven p.m. on a Tuesday night. She never made it home," Sara answered.

Nick continued, "Her car was found on the shoulder of Cave Creek Expressway the next day. There were deep skid marks behind the car, as if someone forced her off the road."

"Did you examine those tracks yourselves?" Grissom asked sharply. The abandoned vehicle had initially been processed by the day shift; the body hadn't been discovered until several days later. While some of the people on days were pretty sharp, Grissom didn't trust them to do as through and meticulous a job as his team would.

"Of course" Sara sharply replied, equally acerbic and somewhat affronted as she misinterpreted his remark. She knew her job, for God's sake. "The marks tell us that someone rammed into the victim's Mercedes hard and fast. He got her car off the road quickly."

Trying to push his theories even harder, Nick grimly added, "The paint transferred to the vic's car was vintage white – a Ford blend. There were bits of glass embedded in the tail lights from an F-17 series head light, and the location of the hits suggests a medium-sized pick up truck, possibly a Ranger. The tire marks are also consistent with a Ford Ranger."

"Manny owns a Ford Escort," Sara offered. "Nick's been all over the DMV data base trying to ID this truck." Unfortunately, he wasn't having much luck.

"So he followed her from the garage then forced her car off the road. Then he must've used a gun or something to threaten her, to get her out of her car to go…where?" Catherine wondered, "Where is this guy having his fun? Where's the love nest?"

"That's the ten thousand dollar question. That would be our crime scene," Grissom sighed. Bodies buried in the desert just didn't reveal as much information as those found at the actual crime scene.

With some urgency in her voice, Sara reminded Grissom, "I still think there's a cabin at Lake Mead."

Grissom shook his head, "You're jumping to conclusions. What are you basing this on? Give me the long version." Earlier, when she'd tried to explain her reasoning, it hadn't made sense to him. That puzzled him since he usually had to exert minimal effort to follow her train of thought. She must've been tired.

"We think we can link Manny to other similar crimes," Sara explained. "I spent hours covering the police rape reports within the last four years, the length of time that Manny has been employed with the same garage. I looked for similarities between the crimes, and I cross referenced for victims who used that garage." It had been days and days of painstakingly detailed work.

She continued, "Renee Barber and Michelle Lewis were both customers at Manny's garage. Both reported being stalked by a tall Latino man then being forced to have sex with him."

"But Sara," Grissom played devil's advocate as he perused the reports she'd given to him earlier. "Renee was forced into her home while Michelle was raped in a parking garage. It's not the same MO."

"There are too many similarities in the descriptions of their assaults for it to be coincidental." Sara was firm.

"Such as…" he led.

"The perp used a bone handled, serrated-edged hunting knife to threaten each of his victims. He held it at their throats, before he raped them, and he threatened to mutilate them in a manner similar to what we found with Bonnie Dunsmore. He also traced his knife on their chests, producing a pattern similar to the stab wounds found on our vic. One of the women was bound at her wrists and ankles with white rope, using the same type of knots," Sara explained.

"Where's the evidence? In each of these cases, the rapes went unreported for weeks, even months," Grissom asked.

Sara sighed, "They were scared to death. Renee only reported the rape after her husband found out and insisted on it. It was days later when she finally came in for processing so there wasn't much evidence left. She also refused to try to identify the man, said he'd threatened to kill her and her family if she told anyone. Michelle lived alone and only reported the rape months later when she got into counseling and a support group. There's nothing probative, and they're both still terrified of this guy.

"So there are some surface similarities," Grissom concluded.

Sara confidently replied, "They can positively identify him."

That got his attention.

Then she had to back down, deflating in front of him, "But they won't, they're too scared. I spoke with both of them at length. The physical description is Manny to a tee, along with the language and the colorful vocabulary. When I played a tape of his voice for them, they were panic stricken. Michelle almost passed out. Even though their attacks occurred over two years ago, they're still frightened. So all we have is anecdotal evidence which is inadmissible in court." Sara explained, carefully avoiding Grissom's glare. He had strong reservations about her handling this case in the first place; he'd wanted to give it to someone else.

"So we have a tenuous possibility that this guy has committed assaults prior to the murder of Mrs. Dunsmore but nothing usable," Grissom sighed. "What about these other files you gave me?"

Sara explained, "They're unsolved cases. The women were never located. Sally Baker, Amanda Lewis, and Cheryl Stein were all customers at Manny's garage, though he was not their regular mechanic." That information had taken hours upon hours to locate. "Sally Baker and Amanda Lewis's cars were never located. Cheryl Stein's was."

Nick handed several blow up photos over to Grissom, pointing out the details of the crime scene. "Look, skid marks. The collision marks are consistent with a mid-sized pickup truck, traces of the same shade of paint were transferred, similar tire spacing, tread and size….same MO, Grissom."

"This is interesting but I'm not sure it's convincing. You have nothing concrete unless you can absolutely match that truck, a truck we can't even prove Manny has. And I still think you're reaching for the Lake Mead connection," Grissom was adamant.

Warrick interceded, "I disagree. Nick, you forgot to mention the weird fragment Dr. Robbins discovered at the opening of Mrs. Dunsmore's cervix. Could that be a small fragment of a knife's bone handle?"

Nick agreed enthusiastically, "You bet."

"From the size and shape of the wound track, we know he used a large serrated blade with a slight curve. That type of knife is used by many of the local fisherman out at the lake to fillet fish. So, a fishing knife and nautical knots put Lake Mead right up on the probability list, and don't forget, it's only ten minutes away from the burial site," Warrick grinned, hoping he was right.

Grissom grudgingly admitted, "It's a possibility." Though, he still felt they were grasping at straws.

As Catherine examined the data, she interjected, "Gil, it's a pattern. The two women were raped in 2003, about six months apart from each other. Sally Baker disappeared in April 2004, Amanda Lewis in December 2004, Cheryl Stein in August 2005 then Bonnie Dunsmore in November of 2005. If this is all him, he's picking up speed. He's escalating."

Sara looked intently at Grissom, "Can we search that area where Mrs. Dunsmore's body was found? See if there is anyone else buried there? If he's never been caught before, why wouldn't he continue to use the same site?"

Grissom considered it. It was an interesting theory, but he wasn't completely convinced. Searching the desert for dead bodies involved serious manpower. And he didn't like being wrong. But then again, additional bodies with a link to the garage and thus to Manny could be the break that they need. If he'd actually committed all of those crimes, he was a seriously dangerous man. They were running out of time.

Right now, searching the desert was infinitely better than the dreadful alternative that Sara and Catherine were suggesting. There was no way he was going to allow Manny to be alone with Sara.

"Let's do it."

But would forty-eight hours be enough time to locate and process three bodies?

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

A/N- Thanks for your feedback! Great to hear from you!

**Chapter 2**

**6 a.m. Somewhere in the Desert near Lake Mead**

As the sun rose on the horizon, its rays warmed the shoulders of over twenty-seven forensic technicians who were busily combing the desolate area, using Geo Radar Inc. machines to search for buried bodies. They had divided into three teams, and the area was cluttered with their gear and generator powered searchlights. Luckily they had been able to borrow multiple units so several teams could methodically radar the ground. After six hours, nothing promising had been detected. People were tired and morale was sinking.

Catherine pulled Grissom aside. Somewhat uncomfortable she said, "Hey, I don't want to ask for special favors but…"

He understood. "It's okay. Go check on Lindsey. I was planning to send some of our team on breaks anyway, try to conserve our energy. If we find something…" his voice trailed off. He wasn't sure this option was going to pan out.

"I'll drive back in a few hours," Catherine explained, feeling guilty.

"No, I'm not giving this that much longer. I'll keep you posted."

She hesitated.

Grissom assured her, "Catherine, go. We're fine. I'm sending other people home to rest too."

"Good idea." She paused again, not sure if she should say something. Grissom probably knew already. Yet, if he didn't, "I don't think Sara has left the lab for over three days."

"I know," he replied softly. Once Sara put her mind to something, she could be frighteningly tenacious.

"Maybe she needs a little distraction," Catherine suggested. She'd noticed that the two of them seemed to be on better terms these days. "You know, Gil, it's okay for you to have a personal life too."

Grissom pretended not to understand her, "I appreciate your concern, Catherine. We'll keep in touch." He turned and trudged back to the searchers.

Predictably, Nick and Sara, who most desperately needed the rest, refused to leave the scene, so a reluctant Warrick headed home as well. He knew they'd need fresh brainpower to process those bodies when and if they were located. Unfortunately, not many shared his optimism.

As the sun climbed higher, and the frustratingly empty search continued, Brass approached Grissom. "How long do you want to give this?"

"A few more hours. If only we had more evidence," Grissom frowned.

"What about Manny's offer? That he'll tell Sara about who killed Mrs. Dunsmore and give her some hard evidence." Amazingly Brass seemed willing to consider it.

"Come on, Jim, we know he did it. He just wants us to take the bait so he gets the opportunity to abuse Sara. Since when do we deal with criminals on their terms? We're not doing that." Grissom was angry, frustrated, and very reluctant to admit that Brass might just be right. The idea appalled him; he stubbornly refused to even consider it.

"Only as a last resort, Gil…." Brass's voice faded as he walked off. Apparently it was an option that many were willing to consider.

Then, around eight fifteen, it finally happened.

"I think I found one," Nick cried, peering over his monitor. Technicians and CSIs all scrambled over with equipment to begin the exhumation. Minutes later, another search team had a positive hit for another body. Within the hour, a total of three bodies were discovered and the digging had begun.

XXXXXXXXXX

**4 p.m. Somewhere in the Desert near Lake Mead**

Sweaty, exhausted, covered with sand and grime, Nick, Sara, and Grissom knelt before the first fully excavated grave. The body had undergone massive decay yet it was clearly bound at the wrists with ragged remains of formerly white rope.

"Check the knot," Nick urged.

Sara confirmed, "It's the same type, the half-hitch. And look at this!" Although decay was clearly evident, the chest wounds in the remnants of the body's rotting flesh resembled Bonnie Dunsmore's. "I think we're on to something."

On that note, Grissom took Nick and Sara aside. "It's going to take several hours to finish excavating and transporting these bodies. Then Doc. Robbins will need to do the postmortem exams. Catherine and Warrick will be here any minute to continue assisting with the excavation. You two need to go home and get some rest." Before they could register their protests, he insisted, "I know we're under a tight deadline. But you'll need to be able to think clearly later to process new evidence."

Sara started to object but Nick sighed and agreed. "Okay, we'll meet back at the lab later to examine the findings." He assembled his gear and started to walk towards his car. Sara began to follow him.

"Sara," Grissom called. She looked towards him. Somewhat bashfully, he asked, "Will you ride with me?"

A little confused, but pleasantly surprised she agreed, "All right."

Grissom gave some last minute instructions to the forensics team then briefly updated Catherine and Warrick as they arrived on the site before leading Sara to his SUV.

Sara collapsed on the seat; tired beyond belief, but vindicated in some strange way. At least three families might have closure now.

Normally Grissom would've sent Nick and Sara home yet he himself would've stayed to supervise. The excitement of uncovering new evidence always drew him to the scene, and, truth be told, he inherently distrusted the capabilities of those outside of his immediate team. However, he trusted Catherine and Warrick implicitly and knew they were fully capable of handling the situation.

More importantly, he felt a visceral need to take care of Sara now. He knew that this case had been hard on her, and if Sara had ridden with Nick, the two of them wouldn't have been able to resist discussing the case non-stop. That wasn't what she needed now. She needed rest, and he was determined she would get it.

After he started the car engine, light classical music poured softly out of the speakers.

"Chopin? He always makes me sleepy," Sara yawned.

'_That's the point,_' he thought.

Her eyes were closed before his vehicle hit the main highway.

Grissom was mildly pleased with himself. At least he'd been able to do something to help Sara.

As he stole surreptitious glances of Sara's face, he was filled with conflicting emotions. Feelings weren't his forte; he'd never been very good at expressing himself that way. That's why he was a scientist and a damn good one at that, more comfortable with labs than love, beakers and test tubes and pH values than the vast landscape of the human heart. Yet, just because he had difficulty expressing his feelings didn't mean that he lacked them.

He was still deeply ashamed that he had treated Sara so badly over the last year and a half. She'd scared the hell out of him when she asked him out to dinner. Out of his element, he'd dealt with it poorly. He knew he'd hurt her deeply, even he wasn't that blind, and the memory of the pain and…embarrassment in her eyes kept him awake more often than he'd like to admit. Since it hurt too much to face her, he tried to cut her out of his life by avoiding her, to convince her, and himself, that he really didn't care anymore.

But he did.

Seeing the mirror image of Sara's dead body last winter had rocked the foundation of his soul. It stirred up feelings and needs that he thought he'd successfully buried. Yet it also reminded him that he was a coward, that she posed a frightening risk. She could hurt him mortally, and because of that, he could never have her. In his own denial, he had continued to avoid her even when he suspected that Sara was having problems.

As he drove, the memory of a past discussion in his car filled his head. Sara had been drinking; in fact she'd been pulled over for drunk driving. Since he was her supervisor, Brass had notified him about her situation. In a daze, he'd gone to the station to rescue her. He hadn't known what he was in for.

A morose, humiliated Sara had greeted him. Most of their drive to her apartment had been silent. When they pulled into her parking lot, he hesitantly asked some probing questions. While they managed to successfully avoid the tricky subject of their relationship, Sara was able to discuss how upset she was over the promotion. She'd looked on it as validation that her years in Vegas hadn't been a total waste, only to discover that not only had she been passed over for someone with an inferior evaluation, but that her formerly supportive boss hadn't even had the consideration to adequately explain his reasoning to her.

Grissom was horrified that he'd been so selfish. His paralyzing fear of getting involved with her had been more important than her struggles. He was ashamed that he put his fears before her overall well-being. He hadn't been much of a friend to her.

He'd tried to convey his concern to her – the toll the work took on her, her overly emotional response to some cases, and her inability to separate herself from some of their victims, especially in cases of rape and abuse.

At that moment, he had a rare and disturbing insight, and he suggested that she had unresolved issues that she needed to deal with. Rather than fighting, she nodded dejectedly while struggling to maintain control.

He'd visited the next day, essentially waving a truce flag. For perhaps the first time, he let himself see the toll the past four years had taken on her, and somewhat cautiously he suggested counseling. To his surprise, she readily agreed, saying that she only wanted to have some inner peace about her life again. He was there as her friend, and to his amazed gratitude, she was willing to accept him as such.

He also discovered that he wanted to be back in her life. He wanted to know how the counseling was going; he wanted her to be happy. Whatever his own shortcomings, he did care about this woman, she was important to him. They'd fallen into a weekly routine where they caught up with each other over breakfast.

Strangely enough, they didn't always talk about work. Their topics ranged from art (he discovered it was her minor at Harvard), to literature (they both had eclectic taste, ranging from Shakespeare to J.K. Rowling), to the very simple details of life (he preferred frozen vegetables over canned, while Sara thought anything other than fresh was just a tad suspect).

It wasn't planned, it just happened that way and he found himself looking forward to their meetings. In some strange way, he found that they became the highlight of his week, and he found himself getting at least as much support as he was giving.

Were they dates? Well, he usually paid, but still, he didn't think so. They had not yet discussed their relationship -- past, present or future. He felt it looming at the edges of their table, like some hazy, treacherous murky pit whose depths were unfathomable. Yet, she was undeniably and inexorably inching her way back into his thoughts and his heart.

Many times he'd wanted to apologize to her for treating her poorly in the past. But then he'd have to discuss issues that he wasn't ready for; things that he might never be ready for. The guilt weighed on him, and, though not a cruel man, he knew that he had to bear some responsibility for her pain. He knew that whatever courage it took, he'd have to figure out a way to make it up to her.

Although he was completely unaware of all the details of Sara's history, he was convinced that it involved rape or abuse, since she reacted so strongly to many of those cases. Thus given her recent personal crisis, he was alarmed when this particular case had fallen to her as one of the lead investigators. He'd gently suggested that she take herself off the case. Unfortunately, she misunderstood his reaction, afraid that he doubted her capabilities as a CSI. Since their newly reborn friendship was tenuous and he didn't want to jeopardize it, he let her run with it.

Yet, the idea of her reading case file after case file after case file of the details of rapes turned his stomach. He knew she could sense his unease, and this case was beginning to cause renewed friction between them. To continue their friendship, or whatever it was, he'd have to tell her how he felt. And heaven only knew what kind of Pandora's Box that would open.

As the lights of the Strip drew closer, a stray thought occurred to Grissom.

What was he going to do with Sara now that she was sound asleep? He couldn't just drop her off at her apartment. What had he gotten himself into?

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N **Thanks for all the feedback, it's always appreciated!

Chapter 3 

**10 p.m. Grissom's Townhouse**

Sara stirred and opened her eyes to discover that she had no idea where she was. The room was filled with dim light, glowing from a small lamp located on top of a dresser. It was a decidedly masculine room, devoted to function rather than comfort. The queen-sized bed she was lying on was covered with a simple dark blue spread, no ruffled pillows or flowers in evidence. Such frivolous touches wouldn't survive in this environment. Instead of curtains adorning the windows, there were simply blinds.

In contrast to her bedroom, the occupant of this room stowed his clothes neatly in the closet or drawers. There were several oak bookcases overflowing with books, journals, and other items such as pictures and plaques. She leaned over to glance at a book that was on the nightstand by the bed, a leather-bound volume titled, "Poetry, the Romantic Period".

Although the room was obviously well used, it was oddly neat. Everything seemed to have its place. In a strange way, it reminded her of Grissom's office.

Grissom.

In a flash, she knew where she was, although she was surprised that he'd actually brought her to his home. Even though they'd been getting along better, she still had trouble reading his signals. She'd been relieved and somehow "lightened" that they'd been able to air some of their grievances, but she was still uncertain as to just what their relationship really was. She realized Grissom had been reaching out to her, and she was grateful for that, really, although a small voice warned her not to count on this friendliness too much, especially when it might well be fleeting in nature and soon disappear again. It hurt because she still felt as if his uncertainty regarding their relationship was spilling over into doubt about her professional abilities, especially when it came to this case.

So, in their wisdom, or lack thereof, they'd sidestepped those issues. Last week, she'd regretfully cancelled their breakfast 'date' since she was so focused on the case; she'd doubted her ability to meaningfully discuss much else. She didn't want to stir up all that controversy with him.

The case! What time was it?

A digital clock on the nightstand read ten o'clock. Why had Grissom let her sleep so long? She had to get back to the lab. They had a deadline -- little more than twenty-four hours left before Manny most likely skipped town or possibly the country. Doc Robbins must have some postmortem results by now and if there was still nothing definitive she was more than willing to deal with the devil himself to get sufficient evidence to lock that foul creature away.

Grissom always says that the evidence doesn't lie. However, the current lack of it didn't make Sara doubt her instincts, she knew in her heart that Manny was guilty. She had her own plethora of evidence, the way Manny leered at her, snickered at her expense, and went out of his way to make her uncomfortable. The way he pretended to accidentally bump into her breasts, and brush his hands against her bottom as she passed him. It bothered her immensely. Just being in a room with him for a few minutes could make her skin crawl. She'd even had nightmares about Manny, though she hadn't confessed this to a soul. She knew this was part of her job, helping to put these deviants behind bars so that others would be safer.

Smoothing out her rumpled clothing, she laughed to herself. She hadn't been able to clean up after the desert excavation; poor Grissom was going to have a bed filled with sand. If she could just find her shoes, she rummaged around by the floor of the bed but had no luck. Maybe she'd have better luck finding a comb in the bathroom.

After successfully locating a comb on the vanity top, and taming her hair, she ventured into the living room. Her breath caught for a moment when she saw him. Grissom was stretched back on the couch, head bent over a book that was open on his lap, with his legs propped on the coffee table. Sara giggled as his glasses, which were precariously perched on edge of his nose, slipped off into his lap. He was fast asleep. She carefully reached over to rescue his glasses, closing the earpieces neatly and placing them on the coffee table.

Despite herself, she paused and leaned closer to him. Since she'd always found him sexually attractive, it was tantalizing to be so close to him. It was tempting to touch him, but she had no intention of doing that to herself. She just watched him breathe, the slow rise and fall of his chest. She examined the line of his jaw framed by his beard, the slight wrinkles about his eyes. She relished the scent and the sight of him. If only their relationship was just about sex, her life could've been so much simpler.

Perhaps she should've made a bolder move towards him, years earlier when they first met, when they were younger. At least they could've had one night of passion. Yet she knew in her heart that most likely wouldn't have happened. If Grissom reacted so badly to being asked out, imagine what a full-scale kiss would've done to him. It also would've destroyed whatever potential their relationship had, not to mention her self-respect. She sighed, mourning just for a moment for what might have been.

Rather than dwelling on things she couldn't change, Sara organized her thoughts. She'd start coffee, forage in the kitchen for something to eat, and then check in with the lab. Hopefully by that time Grissom would wake up and they could return to work.

She opened the door to the refrigerator, pleasantly surprised by the assortment of real food available. Balancing a yogurt, a spoon, and an apple, she made her way over to the table. Grissom's phone rang, startling her, causing her to drop everything. As she knelt to retrieve her food, Grissom stirred groggily and snatched the phone.

"Grissom," he muttered.

After a brief pause, he replied, "No, it's okay. What do we have?" He revived quickly as he listened intently. He frowned as he asked, "That's all?" He thought for a moment, "I assume you're trying dental records?" Another pause, "Okay, I'll be there soon." He closed the phone .

"Dammit."

Sara was growing more and more concerned. She ditched her snack and headed over to Grissom. "What's going on?"

"Our lovely friend, decomposition. While you can retrieve actual organs and hard-core information from embalmed bodies that are several years old, our bug friends really do a number on dead bodies. Just like nature designed them to," he sighed.

"No DNA evidence?"

"None."

That meant they couldn't identify the victims or any DNA that might've been contributed by Manny. Sara found herself about ready to sob from frustration. She sank into a chair, trying to mask her disappointment, putting her hands up to her face. As she took some deep breaths she thought that there just had to be another way, and sternly commanded herself to think.

Grissom mentioned, "I read about a new technique that can be used to analyze partially degraded DNA samples. Though, given the condition of our samples, the odds aren't in our favor, and it would take time for Greg to test out the assay and obtain results."

Sara seemed hopeful, yet she reminded him, "It's too late. Manny will be gone before we can get those results. However, we can ID the women using other means -- jewelry or personal items. Metal doesn't decay as quickly as biological material. Any distinctive jewelry, such as a wedding ring with an inscription could serve as a good lead. Unusual fractures or dental work could be useful too. There's got to be a way for us to make the link," she insisted. It might be a shaky connection, but it could buy them some time.

"Nick and Warrick are working on it now. But I don't know if it's going to be enough to convince a judge," Grissom softly admitted. He didn't need to point out to her that some of these methods would be useless; Sara had seen the poor condition of the first body. It seemed as if they were fighting a losing battle.

However, he wasn't ready to give up yet, or consider the dreadful alternative. So Grissom bravely suggested, "Why don't you freshen up? Take a shower. I'll make us some sandwiches, we'll drop by your place so you can change into clean clothes and then we'll head back to the lab." Seeing her bemused expression, he added in a lighter tone, "I promise I won't peek."

"No, we've got to get back to work, now," Sara protested, fully aware how little time remained to make their case.

Grissom ignored her, leaving to rummage through his linen closet for clean towels.

In the end, she agreed. Although her nap had refreshed her, her energy reserves were still low and her temples were throbbing. A shower and some food might help her revitalize her energy and enable her to think more clearly. She especially needed to be alert if they decided to take Manny up on his offer. They were running out of time.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N – **Great to hear from all of you! Things are just starting to get interesting…

Chapter 4 

**5 p.m. The Lab**

The next hours had flown by quickly. Due to the pending deadline, the entire night shift was working overtime, devoting itself solely to the Dunsmore case, stopping only for bathroom breaks and the occasional weary trek to the break room for yet another cup of coffee. Nick and Warrick were analyzing the bodies, while Sara and Grissom re-examined prior evidence, and Catherine and Brass continued to interview family members in hopes of gleaning something, anything new.

By five o'clock that evening, Nick, Warrick and Sara had collapsed in the conference room. They'd been able to solidly identify one of the bodies as Amanda Lewis, based on her dental records, and Mr. Stein confirmed that the pieces of a custom silver and turquoise necklace found with another body once belonged to his wife Cheryl. Greg was still working with the degraded DNA samples in an attempt to confirm the victim's identity in that fashion. Currently they were awaiting Grissom's return from his meeting with the judge. Would the new evidence found in the desert be sufficient to hold Manny?

Catherine and Brass rather guiltily stayed away from the group, remaining in the hallway, speaking in low murmurs. Knowing Gil for as long as they had, they were both becoming concerned by his behavior. For once, he seemed to be losing his objectivity about the case. Up till now, Grissom had steadfastly refused to even discuss any aspect of Manny's offer. Catherine felt she needed Brass to update her on the details of the offer as a precautionary measure.

When Grissom stalked down the hall, words weren't necessary. His ferocious scowl revealed the verdict.

Warrick glanced up with a disbelieving shake of his head. "You're kidding? Even if the jewelry identification was a little shaky, the dental records are right on," he growled indignantly.

"And the same type of rope was used for all four women, the same type of knots," Nick's voice rose in protest. "One of the victims had stab wounds that were clearly done with a jagged edged knife, exactly like Bonnie Dunsmore's. It's a definite match to the wound track."

"I spoke with more than one judge. They don't dispute our findings and they agree that the evidence suggests that it's highly likely the same person committed all four crimes. Unfortunately, they don't believe we have enough evidence linking the suspect to any of them," Grissom reluctantly shared. "Is there any avenue we haven't explored?" he asked while sinking into a chair and avoiding Sara's probing gaze.

Nick was tired and reaching at straws. "At one point I thought he might have killed his victims on a boat due to the connections with Lake Mead but –"

Catherine had just stepped into the room. "Why bury the bodies in the desert if you can just dump them overboard. Gil, time's up. We're spinning our wheels here." She sat at the table beside him. " We have to discuss Manny's offer."

Realizing that she meant business, he pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his tired eyes. "Ok," the words seemed to drag from his depths, "let's discuss it."

"Why is he even making such an offer in the first place? That ain't right," Warrick shook his head.

"Serial killers are an arrogant bunch. They get away with it the first few times and then they need more to prolong the rush, to maintain the intensity of the experience. So they start leaving little clues, to toy with the investigators, to show how superior they are, how they're one step ahead of the game. The thrill of being so close to being caught is practically an aphrodisiac to them," Grissom explained bleakly. "Maybe even better than sex."

Catherine stated, "He claims he has physical evidence which he's willing to show Sara."

"If it's anything worth while, he'll be arrested. Why would he do that?" Nick asked.

"Because he thinks he can get away with it," Grissom emphasized. "He has many times before. Now he thinks he's going to taunt us up close and personal, right under our noses. How can his overblown ego resist? I'm sure he's stacked the scenario to suit his purposes rather than ours."

"Sara is supposed to go with him to drive to the location," Catherine explained cautiously. "Alone."

"C'mon, he's clearly picked out his next victim," Grissom protested.

Sara jumped in, "Not necessarily. I'm trained in weapon-less defense. And unlike his other victims, I know how he operates. I have a better idea of what to expect. That gives me an advantage. I can wear a wire or a tracking device so the police can monitor my progress from a discrete distance. If anything is off, they'll rush in."

Grissom's mouth momentarily hung open, disconcerted that Sara had obviously already been discussing details with Brass. "You'd be walking into a trap Sara."

"Sometimes these things have to be done Gil. We all believe this guy is dangerous; do you really want him out on the streets? He will kill again. We all know that. Look at his pattern, he's escalating." Anticipating his next comment, Catherine said, "Look, we can't negotiate terms. It's either his way or no way. We've exhausted every lead we have. We're not gonna be able to wrap this up on our own and he's gonna walk. We have a duty here. Isn't it worth the risk?" She reminded him sternly.

Becoming more disconcerted, Grissom vigorously objected, "Most likely he's lying, he just wants to play games with us. Catherine, there's no guarantee that this so-called evidence will convict him. It could be completely fabricated. All we know for sure is that it will endanger one of our people. We have no reason to trust him."

"Grissom, she's right. It's part of the job. Protect and serve, remember? I'm ready and willing to do this," Sara insisted.

"That's unacceptable," Grissom declared, strident and insistent.

"It's not like I haven't done this before. Remember, I was a decoy for the FBI during the strip strangler case?"

'_And the FBI had no problems with my qualifications,'_ she wanted to add. Her temper was rising.

Grissom reminded her harshly, "That was on our terms, not the criminal's terms. And if you recall, I didn't agree with that plan either. This is a terrible idea."

An unsettling suspicion took root in Sara's heart, one she was unable to dismiss. Swallowing the hurt, she sarcastically commented, "Oh, so that's it. It's ok for Catherine to lead Julie Waters' suspected killer on a wild goose chase all around town. It's even ok for you to drop by suspected serial killer's homes all by yourself. But you don't think _I_ can handle it."

The room fell silent; the others were taken aback by her not so thinly veiled accusation.

"In my office. Now!" Grissom barked harshly.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N **Glad to hear you're enjoying the story.

Chapter 5 

**7:30 pm Grissom's Office**

Close on his heels, Sara roughly slammed the door as she stepped into Grissom's office.

"You shouldn't even be on this case," he tossed over his shoulder as he hastily retreated behind his desk and sank into his chair.

"And why not?" She was getting more defensive and remained standing.

"With your…history," he lamely completed.

Aghast, Sara could only stare. She was starting to regret the night she began to trust him again. This is exactly why she'd been afraid to trust him in the first place; he was using personal information to attempt to disqualify her from doing her job. "For your information, you don't even know exactly what my 'history' entails." Although she hated to admit it, it might support her argument. "Besides, my counselor thinks I can handle such a situation."

He avoided her angry stare, seemingly absorbed in cleaning his glasses.

She fumed in silence, waiting for him to make an intelligent response. Did he honestly think if he ignored her that she'd simply give up and go away? That certainly wasn't going to happen. After a minute, she couldn't take it any longer.

"Okay, I give up. What's this really all about?" Sara snapped as she stepped closer to the desk that served as a barrier between them.

"I already told you. This is far too dangerous."

Grissom pinched the bridge of his nose. His temples were beginning to throb.

"Why are you getting so upset? Don't you think that I can do the job? I'll have police backup, you know. Just because I've made some mistakes in the past doesn't mean that I'm not capable of doing my job. I know I can do this."

"That's not the issue. You're one of my best CSIs."

The pressure within his chest was becoming unbearable; he could hardly breathe. Why was she so completely fixated on this idea that he doubted her abilities? That was so far from the truth it was laughable. But could he tell her what his reasons really were? Especially when he wasn't entirely sure himself?

Her voice became louder, "You could've fooled me. You had no problem when that photographer could only deal with Catherine – you even took that case away from Nick and I, for God's sake. It was rightfully ours; it would've been a high profile case to boost our careers, and you knew it. But you gave it to Catherine because you thought she had an edge. Well, now I have an edge. Let me use it to get this scum."

"It's not the same," he objected more vigorously.

She stepped up against the desk and leaned towards him. "Why not? I'm more qualified than Catherine; I'm trained in weaponless defense, as well as being up to date on the target range. I have first hand knowledge of the suspect and his M.O. And I'm willing to do this, I want to do this, I need to do this."

"No, dammit," he bellowed as he stood up and slammed his hand on the desk.

"Why the hell not?" She was furious and bitterly disappointed in him.

Desperate, he tried another tactic, heart hammering and laboring for breath. "Sara, this isn't our role. You know our job, let the evidence do the talking. We don't do undercover work. That's not what we're trained for."

She didn't take the bait. "Well, our window of opportunity is slamming shut. Without anything definitive to pin on him, he's going to leave the country or at least the state. Do you want that to happen? Do you want to tell Michael Dunsmore that we let the man who murdered his wife go? Or break the news to his next victim's husband or boyfriend? You honestly think, as part of the LVPD, that we've done everything we can?"

A loud click drew their attention to the clock on the wall, counting down the minutes and hours until the deadline.

Forcing herself to breathe deeply and calm down she whispered forlornly, "Grissom, we have to help these people and get this guy off the street. Isn't that why we do this job?"

"I thought it was for the thrill of solving the mystery," he faintly murmured.

"Not funny. What's the problem here? If it were Catherine, you wouldn't be having this conversation."

Grissom felt the chinks in his armor grow, loosening the strict hold he kept upon his emotions; finally the weight of his true feelings came crashing in. He gave a deep sigh.

"You're right," he quietly admitted.

She paused, not sure she'd just heard his last comment correctly. "So, what's different with me?" she demanded.

"I'm not in love with Catherine," he confessed softly, the pressure in his chest loosening with his words, finally freeing his tongue and his heart.

"Oh."

Surprise made her knees weak. She perched cautiously on the edge of his desk as her anger melted away. He didn't doubt her abilities as an investigator. He was afraid for her safety; he was worried about her as a woman, a woman that he loved.

Sara looked at him, her love shining in her eyes. For a moment, they just gazed at one another, drinking in the moment.

He came around the desk to her, standing close, so that his hand just barely brushed hers.

Sara shook her head with disbelief, torn between overwhelming joy and frustration that he picked here and now to finally tell her he loved her. She wanted to bask in the thrill of the moment but this was the lab. Their work was an integral part of their being. Regardless of her personal circumstances or feelings, she had to address the urgency of the situation, she felt morally compelled to pursue this option, to fully exhaust their options before conceding defeat.

She lifted her eyes to his, and more gently, she reminded him, "We still don't have a choice here."

"Yes we do, honey. You don't have to do this," he insisted more tenderly, his fingers closing warmly around hers.

"I hate to say this but you've already pointed out that he's marked me as his next victim. I've insulted his pride during the course of this investigation and he's not going to forget that. He can easily figure out where I live. Wouldn't you rather his attack be while I'm under police surveillance than when I'm all by myself while driving home? If he's targeted me, do you honestly think he's not going to act on it?"

"Come home with me then," Grissom urged, not wanting to accept the inevitable, wanting to protect her from all danger.

She was touched by his suggestion, but reluctantly shook her head. "Thanks but you can't protect me all the time. I don't think I could live like that, living in fear. I need to face him and these conditions are more predictable than others that he might choose."

Overwhelming tenderness mixed with crushing dread in his chest. He recognized the fear, even more intense now. She held his heart in her hands. But she was right: he didn't like it, but he couldn't deny it.

"I have to do this, Griss," she whispered. Drawing on all her courage, she leaned forward to gently kiss his lips. The scent and the warmth of him enveloped her, calming her. She slid her arms around him, and tucked her head just under his chin. She murmured, "It'll be okay. I'll be okay, I promise." A small smile crossed her lips as she pulled back to look at him, "You know, you're not getting out of this now. Things just started getting interesting." With a sigh and a watery chuckle, he pulled her closer to hold her.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N **Now things get really interesting. Thanks for your reviews! **Chapter 6** **Midnight LVPD Parking Lot**

Sara had serious knots in her stomach when she saw Manny's Escort pull into the well-lit parking lot. Her fingers rose once again to trace the tracking device that was concealed in her necklace. Brass and his team had decided that a wire could be easily detected and they weren't sure how Manny would react to that. So although the detectives wouldn't be able to hear her conversation, they'd be able to pinpoint her precise location and follow her at a strategic distances.

She stretched her neck and shoulders, trying to lessen her rising tension. The past few hours had been a whirlwind as the police experts had given her an intensive crash course in undercover work, along with detailed instructions on handling dangerous suspects, throwing in self-defense tips along the way.

At first, Grissom had been glued to her side during those meetings, glaring at anyone who dared suggest he leave. Sara had expected to be annoyed by his over protectiveness, but found herself warmed and comforted by it instead. Her heart was still reeling from his confession of love.

His odd behavior, while endearing to her, had alerted Brass to their new relationship, along with the fact that he'd seen their embrace in Grissom's office. With his own streetwise flair, the police captain discretely cornered Grissom, firmly clasping his hand to offer his congratulations. As commander of Sara's decoy operation, and as Grissom's friend, he'd recommended to the graveyard supervisor that it was best to remove himself from the case due to his conflict of interest. Despite Grissom's initial protests, Sara was finally able to convince him that she could focus on the case more completely if he wasn't involved.

Under the glare of the fluorescent lights in the parking lot she wistfully glanced over her shoulder, even though she was aware that Grissom was no longer there. About fifteen minutes ago, he surprised her, stopping by to check in with her, ignoring Brass's strong urging to stay away. Their conversation hadn't been earth shattering but he'd managed to wish her luck and sneak an intense furtive kiss.

"You ready?" Catherine asked. She'd be accompanying Brass and his entourage as they tailed Sara, later she'd take charge of the investigation at the crime scene that Manny was presumably leading them to.

Sara shrugged. "As ready as I'll ever be." Unfortunately, as the moment grew closer, her anxiety level was increasing. But she'd do it. She forced herself think of all of his victims. It would be worth going through all of this to ensure there wouldn't be any new ones.

Catherine placed a supportive hand on Sara's shoulder. "You'll be okay. You don't have to do anything heroic, remember? If you're smart, run like hell the minute he identifies the location, we don't need you getting hurt. Remember, we've got your back."

The older woman's concern was surprisingly reassuring to her.

The two women watched as some detectives chatted with Manny while a uniformed officer searched his car and then his person for weapons. Grissom had insisted on that precaution, although Sara knew it wouldn't necessarily guarantee her safety.

Suddenly, it was time. She slid into the passenger seat of Manny's Escort and they drove off. She remained silent not wanting to provoke this odd man, not wanting to distract him from his mission. The experts at the station had reminded her that the time to get him talking was when he was showing her the evidence. In addition to discovering more details about the crime, it would also buy them time to get her out of a situation that had the potential of becoming increasingly dangerous.

As they drove, Sara maintained her bearings by paying close attention to street signs and landmarks. They were headed west, towards Manny's neighborhood. Certainly they wouldn't be going to his home. She and Nick had searched his place extensively and come up with no viable leads. She was beginning to wonder if Manny had any valid information to share, or if Grissom was right. Perhaps this was a wild goose chase.

Manny had begun a long, disjointed ramble about nothing in particular, deliberately throwing out a few vicious invectives about women in an attempt to provoke her. Sara strove to appear mildly bored, and wisely held her tongue.

He took several turns, leading them through a business district and then into a seedier part of town, towards some faded warehouses that had seen better days. He pulled the car up to one of the garage doors and stopped.

"Get out."

The harshness in his tone sent a chill through her, reminding her of what this man was truly capable of doing to her. Sara complied, a little confused, wondering if this could be the primary crime scene. Yet it didn't fit their model and it didn't feel right to her. Was he just playing games with her?

"Hurry up."

He grabbed her arm tightly and pulled her towards the building. After opening the door, she knew at once that while this wasn't the crime scene, there was another finding of major significance. The elusive Ford Ranger, freshly painted dark blue, stood before them, its bed stuffed with boxes and other assorted belongings. Sara was willing to bet money that the left front headlight was cracked.

'_He's leaving town. And taking me with him?'_ she momentarily panicked.

The change in plans had thrown her. This wasn't what she'd expected. If he planned to get her into the truck, although the police could track her, they wouldn't be as close as she would've preferred. It would take them some time to determine that Manny had switched vehicles. That time could be vital for her survival. This was becoming more dangerous than she'd anticipated.

Sara's options were few. She could cut her losses and bolt, counting on her police surveillance to swiftly catch up with her at the Escort. Since this truck was most likely the vehicle involved in the abductions; that alone could provide sufficient grounds for the police to hold Manny. She was willing to bet that there'd be blood or hair samples of the victims beneath his mountain of possessions. The only problem was that it would be useless if he drove away in it, which is precisely what he'd do if she fled. Despite her nagging reservations, she held firm, for she doubted the warehouse held any thing else of significance to the case.

"You didn't think I was gonna stick around?" he leered and shoved her towards the passenger door of the Ranger. "I'm not stupid."

To maintain his sense of control, Sara agreed with him. No wonder he consented so easily to a weapons search, his highly prized bone handled jagged edged fillet knife was most likely concealed within this vehicle.

Her heart sank as she climbed into the truck, and she strove to control her rapidly accelerated breathing. The police could locate her; her homing device was still functional, she assured herself. She was prepared, she'd just need to buy herself some time when the moment to escape presented itself since she couldn't expect a quick response from her backup.

To make matters worse, Manny opened a garage door on the opposite end of the unit, and then floored the gas pedal. Now it would take the police even longer to physically locate her. They took off in the truck, heading farther away from the bright lights of Vegas. Sara had lost her orientation, but if the Lake Mead theory was correct, then she assumed that she was on her way to the primary crime scene.

When they passed the outskirts of Vegas, her hopes continued to plummet. Manny started a diatribe about how horrible women were, but fortunately he didn't expect much in the way of feedback, other than an occasional nod or 'yes' to convince him that he had a captive audience. Sara's thoughts wandered to other matters, not wanting to be mired down by his disturbing theories.

Was this how Manny treated his victims? Did he force them out of their cars at knifepoint and then into the passenger seat of his Ranger? Or did he knock them out and carelessly toss their bodies into the back of the truck? Did those women have any idea what fate held for them? Did Manny spell it out for them or had he let them stew in their thoughts and fears as he ranted on about the evils of women? Like he was doing now.

She took a breath and mentally corrected herself. She was not a victim; she had options. Even though she couldn't see them, the police were tailing her; she wasn't alone. It crossed her mind more than once that Manny could be taking her to a completely unrelated site to rape and then kill her. She tried to ignore that thought.

Had he raped and murdered them in the bed of his truck then dumped the bodies when he was finished? She was eager to process that truck, certain it could fill in many of the holes in the story. However, if that were the case, she would've expected the victim's belongings to be disposed of with the bodies. Other than jewelry, all of the corpses they'd uncovered were bound at the wrists and completely naked. A psychopath like Manny most likely would keep some of their belongings as souvenirs. She was counting on finding some of them tonight.

The desolate nature of the dark narrow country roads disturbed her, making her feel even more isolated. It would be difficult for the police to follow her closely without drawing undue attention. Then to complicate matters more, Manny pulled off the main route on to an unmarked gravel road. How would the police even see it when they drove by in the dark? Her stomach knotted in protest and her heart rate hitched up another notch.

After traveling on the gravel road for about ten minutes, Manny pulled up to a cabin. The investigator in her snapped to attention, itching to grab her kit and process the scene. It wasn't much of a cabin; it certainly wouldn't have been listed on the tourist registry of rental properties. Most likely, some weekend warriors who cared more about drinking and fishing rather than aesthetic appeal had thrown it together.

"Get out."

Sara shuddered, seeing his grin. It made her skin crawl. She scanned her surroundings. The flat terrain offered little suitable cover for an adult female, though the darkness could partially conceal her. Her options continued to become more limited; yet she sensed this was it. There was going to be a payoff after all. Having no other viable options, she nervously followed Manny inside the building.

It was show time.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

A/N Note this chapter is rated T to reflect more intense content. Enjoy! Chapter 7 

**2:30 a.m. A Cabin near Lake Meade**

"So what do you have?" Sara asked, anxious to get this over with.

He gestured towards the other side of the cabin. Some articles lay on the floor near a queen-sized bed. She cautiously made her way over; there was a lot of clutter in the room. She bent down to inspect the items more closely. It was clothing, several separate piles of neatly folded garments, including underwear. Women's underwear.

Although Manny was meticulous with his tools, their search of his dwelling had shown them that this habit obviously didn't transfer to his wardrobe or other personal items. Sara realized that these were the victim's clothes, which would contain DNA evidence to establish a positive connection to Manny. At the same time, she was building a sickeningly clear mental picture of the crimes that had taken place here.

At that moment she realized she'd made a critical error. She'd been so absorbed by the evidence that she'd lost track of Manny. He was now standing beside her with the infamous hunting knife in his hand.

"Think you're so smart now little girl?

A lump formed in her throat and she fought not to shake. Grissom was right; she was in way over her head. And now she might never see him again. This evidence came with a very high price.

Yet rather than accepting defeat, her mind raced to determine a way to stall him until the police arrived. It was time to get him talking about his crimes while she waited for an opportunity to escape.

"Why did you do it Manny?" Her last minute training had taught her that many serial killers enjoyed bragging about their conquests; especially to some one they felt they had complete control over.

"They deserved it. They thought they were better than I was," he spat. "Now look who's talkin'."

Due to the fact that it'd been so difficult to link the victims to Manny, she assumed these slights were mostly in his head, that he'd never had a personal relationship with his targets. Perhaps he'd selected his victims based on their socioeconomic status since most of them had higher end cars or had shown more outward signs of success such as designer accessories or flashy jewelry.

Her eyes couldn't help but flicker to those piles of clothing. Would hers be next? She had to keep him talking.

"Why did you pick them?" She wanted to ask if he thought they were pretty, but rape generally isn't a product of sexual desire. Power is the stronger motivating factor.

He shrugged. "These bitches flash their money in my face. Think they're better than I am."

"Did it make you feel like a man?" slipped out before she could stop it.

Her heart thudded for his expression revealed that was exactly the wrong thing to say. This was her chance; using her self-defense training she grabbed his arm to shove him off balance and away from her. Unfortunately, his reactions were quick as well; he snatched her right arm and twisted it in a completely unnatural fashion. He took great pleasure from her wounded yelp and the loud snapping sound it produced. The pain was excruciating; Sara knew immediately that it was broken. Involuntary tears filled her eyes, and she fought not to panic.

He was done playing games. He lovingly caressed the side of his knife with his fingertips. "I think you know what to do." He eyed the clothing on the floor.

She bit her lip trying not to cry out in pain. This was how he treated his other victims. The whole horrifying process filled her mind. He would threaten her and make her remove her clothing, neatly folding the garments. Then he would bind her wrists so she would give him less trouble. When she was naked, he would trace his knife on the most sensitive portions of her anatomy to terrify her, and threaten to mutilate her. The torture would be prolonged, for that would feed his ego, build up his excitement. If she didn't beg for mercy, most likely he'd torment her until she did, her cries feeding his thirst for power and control.

Judging from the angle of the stab wounds in Mrs. Dunsmore, Doc Robbins believed that she had been stabbed while Manny was on top of her. Would he rape her then kill her? Or perhaps she'd have the blessing of dying before he eventually penetrated her, she prayed.

He wasn't pleased by her hesitation. "Take your clothes off. _Now_," he growled.

She tried to comply; her right arm was essentially useless. Any motion on that side of her body sent shooting pains through her. She fought the waves of nausea and broke out in a cloying sweat as she began to awkwardly fumble with the buttons of her blouse with her left hand.

With a snarl, Manny stepped closer.

"I'm trying! It's hard with my arm."

"And whose fault is that, chica?"

She increased her efforts, sensing it would be infinitely better to do it herself rather than to have Manny touch her any earlier than necessary. Gritting her teeth, she managed to remove her shirt and toss it on the floor. The throbbing in her arm was like a living breathing animal, protesting with every move. It was agonizing.

"Keep going little girl," he leered, enjoying the show. Most likely her fear was more provocative than her half clad body. She nearly vomited when she noticed his obvious arousal.

Would the first time Grissom saw her naked be in the morgue as he examined her corpse?

She was mortified that she couldn't hold back the tears that started to trail down her cheeks. Her good hand reluctantly moved towards the waistband of her pants when the sudden sound of tires tearing up gravel screeched outside. Sara prayed that the police had arrived. Taking advantage of the distraction, Sara made her move, butting Manny in the stomach with her head, and then scrambling for the door. She fumbled frantically to open it as Manny fought to regain his footing.

"Police! Hands on your head!"

A loud voice boomed as the door was flung open and several uniformed officers stormed in. Sara blindly stumbled out of the cabin, nearly colliding with an officer. He took one look at her shell-shocked expression, then stripped off his jacket and draped it gently over her shoulders. Then he escorted her to a squad car. She sat numbly in the back, cradling her wounded arm, while he called for an ambulance.

Minutes later, Brass stopped by the car. "Great job Sara. I think there will be enough here to lock this guy up for good." When he innocently patted her shoulder, she whimpered in pain and nearly blacked out. Brass' expression immediately changed to one of concern, and his eyes narrowed at her grimace of pain.

He called out to an officer, "Make sure that ambulance is on the way, this officer is hurt. NOW!"

She knew she had to say something to him but she was afraid she was going to fall apart. She longed to pull the mantle of dignity and professionalism around her for protection. It was taking all she had within her not to burst into tears.

Being a perceptive man and noticing her appearance, Brass sensed that Sara needed some time to recover from her ordeal. "Um…we don't have to de-brief now. Manny's in custody. He's going down town. He won't be going anywhere else for a long time. Catherine's already here to process the cabin. You did a great job," he reassured her. "You gonna be okay?" he asked ashis attention was drawn by raised voices.

Sara nodded wearilyand he reluctantly turned backto the scene. She silently prayed that Catherine wouldn't stop by to check up on her. The experience was humiliating enough without having to talk about it. She should've known that wasn't Catherine's nature.

"Hey, you all right?" the blonde called as she jogged up to the police cruiser.

Sara nodded, struggling to maintain a brave façade. If she could just get something for her arm, the throbbing was unbearable. She wasn't sure how much longer she could hold on.

"You did a great job Sara. We couldn't have put him away without you. Get some rest."

As Catherine stepped away, Sara shut her eyes. She could faintly hear the wail of the ambulance's sirens.

'_Please, I can't control myself much longer'_, she pleaded. _'I can't handle much more of this pain.'_

A hand touching her shoulder startled her; causing her to cry out in pain as her eyelids flew open. It was Grissom.

"I thought…you're not supposed to be here…"

He opened the car door and sat beside her. "I know. I don't care. A patrolman owed me a favor. You didn't think I could just listen to this over the radio, did you?" Grissom paled as he took in her appearance: her tear stained cheeks with only a man's jacket draped over her bra, the unnatural position of her right arm. With a husky whisper, he said, "God, what did he do to you? Honey, are you okay?"

That was it. That was all she could take. She began to sob and Grissom tried to figure out a way to hold her that wouldn't hurt her. Hugging her injured arm to her, she cautiously leaned against his chest as sobs wracked her body. He gently wrapped his arms around her, lending her his warmth and strength.

"It's okay honey. It's over. You're going to be okay," he mumbled with relief, bowing his head closely over hers. "Thank God you're okay."

When the paramedics arrived, Grissom stepped aside so they could escort Sara to the ambulance. They efficiently splinted her arm, and gave her a fast acting injection for the pain. As she lay strapped in the gurney, she already felt spacey.

Had Grissom really been here? Or was that just her imagination? She blinked her eyes and murmured his name, "Grissom?"

His voice came from her left, and she realized he still had hold of her uninjured hand, stroking her fingers softly. "I'm here, I'm right here. You're not going anywhere without me."

She turned her head with a loopy grin and met his worried eyes. "Good," she smiled broadly as she tightened her grip on his hand momentarily then closed her eyes.

THE END

Hope you enjoyed the story, it was lots of fun to write! Thanks for all your reviews!


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